


All's Fair in Love and Scores

by AceQueenKing



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018), Star Wars (Marvel Comics)
Genre: Bargaining, Dathomir, F/F, First Kiss, Flirting, Sith Holocron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 03:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15209405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Summary: Qi'ra finds a most-peculiar thief trying to break into her vaults.





	All's Fair in Love and Scores

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookykingdomstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/gifts).



Qi’ra sees the intruder alert sign flash up on her display and, out of habit, her hand hovers over the button to turn off life support. It used to happen often enough, when Crimson Sun had enough enemies and Qi’ra had too little time -- it had almost become tedious to watch people choke as she stripped the oxygen out of the room. But that was then. It has been quiet, too quiet, for many years now. It has been a long time since anyone has intruded on Dathomir. She has been a bit bored. Maybe this one would present a challenge.  
  
With one quick movement, she flickers the camera in the storeroom on instead.  
  
It is a girl; young, thin. Hungry. Born after the war, without memories of what it was like before. She’s practically dressed – slacks, vest, helmet, even. Few thieves bothered with the helmet. She watches, fascinated, as the girl grabs a sort of dust out of her pocket and blows it through the room. Clever, but not enough sand to be _too_ clever — there were more lasers in the room than she could hope to take out with just that little handful of dust.  
  
And then, miraculously, the girl does something that Qi’ra had not seen in years: she proves her wrong.  
  
The dust spreads out in strange ways, expanding through her room, highlighting every security measure that she’d taken great pains to cloak. Qi’ra watches, eyebrows raising. Perhaps the thief is cleverer than Qi’ra had thought. That is trouble. A careful thief will take their time and do the job right — and someone that competent is worth the attention of the boss.  
  
Qi’ra sets the feed to continue to record but rewinds her copy, leaning in, studying the girl’s outstretched hand. She needs to know what she’s dealing with, at least when it comes to that dust. “Enhance 224 to 176,” she says, selecting the quadrant that held the woman’s hand. In the larger image, something is there, something small and blurry.  Too small to see.  
  
“Enhance, Stop.” She leaned in but still — not quite centered enough to make out her quarry. “Move in, Stop.”  
  
The computer system filters the image more, and Qi’ra eyes widen. Droids? Droids in the microdust. That was old tech — dangerous tech. The sort that doesn’t come cheap.  The sort she specializes in. She fast-forwards through the rest of the footage, watching the cute girl slink through the laser-wire and around the trap door... She sets the upload link on the recording to upload it to the Mother’s commlink should she not cancel it within one hour — one can’t be too careful.  Dathomir doesn’t take kindly to outsiders.  
  
And then she walks down the stairs of her fortress, her heels clicking on the hard stone. She wonders if the woman froze, hearing them – she hopes so. It has been a long time since she’s had any challengers, and she’s gotten restless. She has forgotten what it’s like, to see the fear in someone’s eyes. She takes the safety off her blaster, thumbs it to kill. It is not her only weapon; the lightsaber Maul had whipped her into building lies at her waist, but that is only a last resort. One never knows when the Empire might get word of it, and Qi’ra has enough issues isolating the Hutts. She doesn’t need to be fighting on two fronts.  
  
She threw open the door to Dryden Vos’ favorite toys — now detritus in little more than an expensive storage cabinet. She doesn’t have the same love of parties and displays that Vos once had. Her would be-thief turns toward her, a surprised _‘oh’_ on her mouth.  
  
“Huh,” The thief says, dropping her hands away from the Sith holocron Qi’ra is certain the thief feels she is mere moments away from absconding with. “Short staffed? Didn’t figure I’d get the big guns.”  
  
“Maybe you’re just lucky,” Qi’ra counters, pointing her blaster at the woman and wondering if she will stay or if she will turn tail. She can fire, but doesn’t.  
  
“Maybe so, no one said the boss was so pretty.” The girl winks. Qi’ra is almost flattered. She takes a warning shot – close enough to startle, not to kill – and the thief ducks; she smiles.  
  
“I’m a good shot, too.”  
  
“I see that, I see that.” The thief looks almost bashful. She sticks her hands out; a universal gesture that Qi’ra recognizes as desperate begging. She has utilized it enough times in her life. “Look, let’s not be hasty — “  
  
“Oh, you’re certainly not hasty.” Qi’ra takes a step forward, never dropping her blaster. She could blow the girl’s head off at any point, but she is in no hurry to end the encounter. “Looks like you’ve been planning this for quite some time. Saw those bots. Nice tech.”  
  
“Aha, well,” the thief blushes — _blushes_ ! — and shrugs. The shrug is half-familiar, the ghost of a boy she loved once lingering in that carefree toss of the shoulders. She should hate the thief for it, but instead, it just makes her homesick. “That’s why I get hired. You know. Put that something special in the presentation.”  
  
“Seems like a good way to _attract_ attention, alright. Pity it’s mine.” Qi’ra makes a show of setting her gun on the kill sitting – though, of course, this, too, is a bluff. It has been on kill since the moment she grabbed it. It is always on kill when Qi’ra shoots. But she does not want to shoot the thief; the girl amuses her. She wants to see the show continue. It has been a long time since anyone got into Dathomir. It has been longer still since she was amused.  
  
“Maybe I wanted to attract your attention.” The thief, arms still held out, slowly takes a step toward her. Qi’ra lets her, but the blaster doesn’t go down.  
  
“That so,” she says, deadpan, in a lilt she stole off a boy on Correllia braver than she ever was. Odd how the past presents itself. Odd how much she finds herself missing it, despite how much power she has now.  
  
“Yeah. Maybe.” The thief smiles, with a lightness to her voice that Qi’ra can never remember having, even in her youngest days. Thievery had always been life or death for Qi’ra. “You know, I’m just a – just a charity case, that’s all. And it wasn’t like you were using any of this weird, old stuff.”  
  
The Thief waves her hand in an odd motion, wrinkling her nose. “Dusty in here. When’s the last time you had it swept?”  
  
“A Sith holocron doesn’t require sweeping,” Qi’ra says, rolling her eyes. “But it’s hard to imagine why a thief would want it. Not like there are a lot of buyers on the market for it.”  
  
There are only two, in fact. Qi’ra makes it a point to keep an inventory in her mind of all the treasures she holds, and under every …unique artifact, she keeps a list of potential buyers to offer them to. She is well aware of who might come asking for this.    
  
“Didn’t say I was gonna sell it,” the thief says, eyebrows raised; Qi’ra reaches out, grabs the thief’s wrist. The thief does not flinch. Qi’ra lowers the gun.  
  
“That so?” She purrs; she wonders if this is a buyer, after all; a bit unorthodox, perhaps, but Qi’ra likes unorthodox. Whichever of the two sent her, she doesn’t care much, so long as there are credits. But she appreciates the artistry.  
  
“That’s so,” Aphra says; she makes a show of shaking off Qi’ra grip, just delicately enough to reach up into her vest and show a credit chit; unbranded, unmarked. The kind of currency Qi’ra likes best.  
  
“Then your charity…?” She asks gently, taking the chit, studying it. 100,000; a good amount of money, but not enough to give away one of Dryden’s most trusted possessions.  
  
“Oh, you know. Tall, asthmatic, never leaves home in anything that isn’t black?” Aphra waggles her brows in a way that makes Qi’ra dangerously likely to burst into a grin. But she doesn’t. Vader is less promising than the Emperor himself from a financial standpoint, but there’s also the politics to consider, and Qi’ra knows all too well how the right hand so often becomes the head.  It’s not the worst trade; Vader owing her a favor might allow her to expand into the Imperial territory, rather than wasting away here in the outer rim.  
  
And Qi’ra likes to play the long game.  
  
“So, if your master gave you money to buy this, what are you doing trying to break into my vault?” Qi’ra asks, smiling. She puts the credit chit in her belt. The girl’s smile vanishes.  
  
“Well, you know, girl’s gotta built a nest egg somehow, right?” She scratches her head in awkward self-awareness. “Can’t all be born into…” She casts her hand out, spanning the wide treasures Dryden spent a lifetime accumulating. “This.”  
  
“Yes,” Qi’ra says, nodding. She had been right to peg the girl as hungry. “I understand.”

They are alike, after all.  
  
“Besides, you’ve got good security here.” The girl scrunches her nose and Qi’ra thinks of Han doing the same, deep in the act of hotwiring a speeder – _we’re getting out of here, just you wait, next stop anywhere but here_ . The pang of a long-buried heart is quickly swept aside as the girl touches her arm, just a bit too intimate a touch to remind her of anything she left behind long ago. No, this thief is new, and all the more exciting for it. Her eyes burn with a curiosity Qi’ra once felt, long ago.  “I’ve always relished challenges. Breaking in? That’s just _foreplay._ You should see what I did on Dantooine. That base was just...ripe for the taking, you know? I have very good fingers for spotting priceless stuff. The rebels needed to import a whole quadratic processor to get that thing going ago. I had that whole security system purring like a kitten. Those imps just made it easy.”  
  
“I see,” She says, swallowing and gently removing the girl’s arm. This is the first time someone has touched her in anything but combat for years, and Qi’ra is hungrier than she remembers. “Well, I’ll certainly be bumping the security up now.”  
  
She leaves the invitation for the girl to try to break in again unsaid, but the wide grin on the thief’s face tells her that she picked up on it anyway.  
  
“Have to ask my friend if he wants any more of this old junk, then,” she says with a wink. “Or maybe it can just be a fun little side-project.”  
  
“I didn’t say he could have that holocron,” Qi’ra says, raising one finger and placing it on the thieves’ mouth. She smiles, wide and knowing. The girl’s lips are soft, and Qi’ra wonders what it would feel like to kiss them.  
  
“What?! After what I paid! Pff!” The thief makes a little puff of indignant air on her finger that lights nerves on fire that Qi’ra has not had reason to use in years. “That’s Banking Clan-level robbery! You said it yourself, you have no buyers for that old glowing triangle. It doesn’t even stack well.”  
  
“Doesn’t mean I’m willing to let it go for bargain basement prices.” Though she has to admit, the Sith holocron’s shape does make it hard to stack.  
  
“I don’t have anything else,” the girl says, her arms slung in a defeated gesture. “And you know I can’t go back and tell him no. He’s not that kind of boss.”  
  
“Oh, I disagree,” Qi’ra says, letting her immaculately painted nail trail down the girl’s soft skin. The girl shivers, and Qi’ra bites her lips for a second in naked want before continuing to get down to business. “I will allow it go with your boss, but with – _conditions_ .”  
  
“And those are?” The girl snaps; her hand breaches Qi’ra shoulder, fiddling with the strap of her dress. She wonders if the thief will try to rob it off of her and finds herself not entirely opposed to the prospect.  
  
“One:  Your boss owes me a favor. _You_ will ensure he does not forget this.” She will comm Vader personally, of course; let him know his parcel will be arriving soon and all the prices she has placed upon it. Qi’ra has been in business too long to not believe in back-ups, and should Vader renege on such promises, she can easily wage war on him. Palpatine’s ear is all too easy to buy, after all.  
  
Another lesson Qi’ra has learned: right-hands are easily replaceable.  
  
“Fine, though – fine. I mean, fine.” The thief says; her eyes glance at the corner and Qi’ra wonders if she is looking for backup. She pulls back, taps in a code for security droids to sweep the perimeter while pretending to fret for a moment.  
  
“Second – your name, little thief. And do be honest.” This is a purely selfish request, but Qi’ra tells herself that it is because such a capable thief could one day be a remarkable asset -- but then, who is she kidding. The girl will never join her, even if she wants to. Vader will never her live. Qi’ra has worked for enough Sith to know what path the girl is walking; her steps are Qi’ra’s own.  
  
“Aphra,” she says, mumbling. Her eyes have been on that door for far too long, and Qi’ra turns with a gun pointed toward it.  
  
“Aphra what,” She barks, even as she moves toward the doorway.  
  
“Don’t!” Aphra says, and then she explodes into a fury of movement. Aphra, lithe, shoves Qi’ra hard into the floor with a strength Qi’ra would not have expected. And Qi’ra realizes, with a sickening thud, that she has been played, as the door explodes into a thousand particles. Impressive, considering the door is metal. Very, very hard – very, very _expensive_ – metal.

 

“Oh, _kriff._ ” It’s the oldest trick in the book, the first lesson she learned and the one she should never have forgotten: _never trust a pretty face._  
  
“Sorry.” The thief is straddling her, looking abashed for all the power she holds in this situation. “Chelli Lona Aphra, by the way.”  
  
“What?” Qi’ra’s equilibrium is thrown off; more so as Aphra casually moves and grabs her pistol.  
  
“My name: Chelli Lona Aphra, Rogue Archeologist. Look me up, sometime.” She doesn’t point the pistol at Qi’ra, though she should. Qi’ra would do it, in her place.  
  
Aphra fishes a glove out of her pocket and Qi’ra watches as the holocron floats to her – magnets. Why hadn’t she examined the artifact? Stupid.  
  
With a snarl, Qi’ra attempts to swat at Aphra, but the thief bats it away.  
  
“Sorry about this,” Aphra says. “Nothing personal. But you know, my boss – he ain’t the kind you can say no to.”  
  
She leans inward, pressing her lips to Qi’ra’s own. Soft, sweet; Qi’ra does appreciate the kiss for half a second. Aphra is a good kisser, the kind who seems like she’s used to kissing women like Qi’ra, knows to take her time so as not to set off weapons of war. Her hand grabs Qi’ra’s belt, and Qi’ra moans, slightly, even knowing Aphra is taking back her alleged payment.  
  
With some regret, Qi’ra’s hands find the back of the girl’s back, and she pulls her hands down in a long-trained move. If Aphra is lucky, Qi'ra will only break her spine. She may still walk again.

But her move to break the girl is thrown off. Aphra is not only strong but slippery; she breaks her attempted hold like a pro, elbows bumping her hands away like gnats. Aphra then rolls off of her and stands.  
  
“I would love to continue this. Always wanted to see some Teräs Käsi techniques up close. Maybe next time.” Aphra tips her cap – _tips her cap!_ – and grins at her, and storms out of the room, Qi’ra’s artifact and Qi’ra’s gun in hand.  
  
It’s a good con. Brazen. Qi’ra should do a lot of things to combat it: she should slam some of her other traps into action, she should put out an all-points-bulletin on the girl with all her numerous, deadly subordinates. She should contact the Emperor, screw over Vader and the girl both — assuming Aphra was telling the truth about that.  
  
But then, Qi’ra too, has been hungry. And it has been a long time since anyone amused her. It would be a pity to kill Aphra when she seems so _promising_ .  
  
She rises up slowly, dusts herself off. Ignores the sparks that still tingle pleasantly from Aphra’s kiss. She does a quick inventory in the storeroom — the holocron the only thing missing. She catches a view of herself in the mirror in the corner and finds a small piece of flimsy attached to her belt where Aphra touched her, finds the thief took her money but left her with something else: holo-comm digits.  
  
Well.  
  
Qi’ra laughs to herself, tucks the flimsy in her belt buckle and heads back up to the chamber of her command. She will have to replace the gun, and the door. She will definitely have to replace some of the security protocols.  
  
But…  
  
She dials in the number on the flimsy in her comm unit, amused.  
  
_Write to me when you seek better employment – Q,_ she sends, on a lark. She puts Chelli Lona Aphra in her watch-list, is satisfied to find out it’s not a nom de guerre – or at least, if it is, it’s one with history.  
  
She downloads the girl’s history to a data-pad, fetches a cup of kaf, and pours over it: same old story — dead family, starving child.  
  
It’s always the hungry ones, Qi’ra thinks, who capture her heart.  
  
She will have to watch Aphra’s career with interest, and hope that at some point, their interests will intersect.  
  
She isn’t sure whether she’ll kiss Aphra or kill her for stealing her stuff, but she looks forward to finding out.  
  
This is the most alive she’s felt in years.


End file.
